The Curse of Jasper Throe

By Sam M. Shaw

“You’ve got to be pulling my ever-loving, god-forsaken tail.” Jasper Throe grumbled upon seeing the Gray Book. He unceremoniously plopped down the groceries.

The apples were going to be awfully bruised.

This vellum-covered grimoire had the audacity to splay itself on his kitchen counter as though it were a cookbook. Instead, it was a terribly vicious tome including, but not limited to, recipes for disaster (natural or supernatural), magical transformations, and demon summoning. Since he had unknowingly signed the warrant for his haunting by writing his name on the “This Book Belongs To” page, he could not be rid of it. No matter how valiant his effort.

He bustled about the kitchen island, putting away his groceries while his scaled green tail whipped around behind him. He thwacked the table with such disgruntled force that the soy coffee creamer toppled over. The cap popped off, spewing the contents everywhere.

Jasper groaned again, throwing his shoulders back. “See what you’ve done? Now I have to clean this up on top of figuring out how to get rid of you.”

In his most recent effort to be rid of the book, he’d dropped it off at a used book store. He had even magicked it into a cookbook to make it look less ominous in the hopes that some suburban millennial might purchase it in her never-ending search for vegan meals.

The book mocked him.

“So what if someone accidentally brews a potion instead of lentil soup?” As soon as Jasper said it, he knew it wasn’t something he could brush off so brusquely.

This book was a curse and Jasper was not sure he wanted to pass it along to someone else. As the only warlock in the tri-state area, it was his responsibility to be rid of it for the good of the people… or something like that.

“How would you like it if I burned you?” he said as he sopped up the last of his fallen creamer with a hand towel. “Or, would that just cause an explosion?”

The book didn’t answer. Despite its dastardly tendencies, that was a talent Jasper had not yet seen. Though, if the Gray Book could hold a conversation and simply did not believe him to be an interesting enough conversationalist that wouldn’t surprise him. Yet another reason he hated the book.

He had tried mailing it to the nearest vampire clan once (because they were already dead, what harm could it do them?), but it had only redirected itself to his front door. He’d locked it in a box and thrown it down a storm drain, and he had even put it on eBay. The stupid Gray Book kept coming back.

“Fine,” he muttered, tail flicking back and forth. “I won’t torch you because I’m afraid you’ll just burn down the whole apartment complex. Let’s see if someone might like you at the public library.”

Fifteen minutes and a slew of passive-aggressive comments later, Jasper Throe arrived at the library. All it took was a quick snap of his sparking fingers, a bit of green flashy magic, and his green warlock’s mark was concealed from those without the innate ability to see magic. It was easier than trying to hide it down one leg of his trousers as he’d done for most of the nineteenth century.

With the book tucked under his arm, he stepped out from his compact car and entered the library in search of someone who might lift his curse.

Jasper stared around for a while. The library bustled with middle-aged people, children, and of course the pixies who never stopped organizing and reorganizing the shelves, but nobody appeared gullible enough—

“Esscuse me, Mister?” A hand tugged at his tail. “Is that attached to you?”

Jasper turned around and crouched down. The small girl held on to his tail, but he didn’t mind. He blinked, flashing his reptilian eyes at her brown ones. “Yes.”

She smiled at him, pulling on one of her shoulder-length braids. “Can I grow one, too?”

Jasper almost jumped out of his skin with glee. “Let me show you something.” He pulled the grimoire from beneath his arm. “This is where I got my tail.”

“And your fancy eyes?”

“And my fancy eyes.” Liar.

“I’ll let you have it, if you want.” He shrugged, strategically. “I already have mine, so I don’t need it anymore.” He placed the heavy book in her soft, tiny hands.

Is a child really the one to whom I ought to give this curse? Jasper silenced his worry with a short exhale and patted the girl’s head.

“Make sure to put your name in it in case you lose it,” he whispered.

She grinned maniacally, a mischievous gleam in her hungry gaze. His concern disappeared. More than likely she could handle whatever this tome had to throw at her.

Fifteen minutes later, he opened the door to his apartment. The Gray Book sat demurely on his coffee table. Jasper wanted to scream. Did he scream? He wasn’t quite sure.

In the doorway to the kitchen, the little girl with two brown braids and a blue feathered tail crunched an apple. She grimaced and inspected its brownish interior. “Mister, my tail isn’t like yours.”

Jasper Throe met her now electric-blue eyes with his green ones. “I like yours better.”

The newly-minted warlock child bared her pointed teeth.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sam M. Shaw has been writing since she could hold a crayon—creating multicolored, fantastical worlds that she might tuck into for a little while. Presently, she is a Junior at UNC Chapel Hill, working toward her MAT to teach High School English. She hopes to show her future students, as she so fervently believes, that words have the power to change us (whether written in a fancy pen or crayon). 

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